MAN is no mushroom growth of yesterday. His roots strike deep into the hallow'd mould Of the dead centuries; ordinances old Govern us, whether gladly we obey Or vainly struggle to resist their sway: Our thoughts by ancient thinkers are controll'd, And many a word in which our thoughts are told Was coined long since in regions far away. The strong- soul'd nations, destin'd to be great, Honour their sires and reverence the Past; They cherish and improve their heritage. The weak, in blind self-trust or headlong rage, The olden times' transmitted treasure cast Behind them, and bemoan their loss too late. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DINNER IN A QUICK LUNCH ROOM by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE SUICIDE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO HORACE BUMSTEAD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON A PALMETTO by SIDNEY LANIER IN A SWEDISH GRAVEYARD by EMMA LAZARUS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ADAM WEIRAUCH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |